


Hollowed

by prettyredfox



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Babies, Bromance, Fix-It of Sorts, Friendship, Gen, Weird Plot Shit, alternate season 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 01:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyredfox/pseuds/prettyredfox
Summary: How I think season 3 should've gone, because I'm a sucker for the happy endings.  No worries, plenty of angst in between.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is long before Season 3. I just want to forget that shit happened. Like it was awesome, but dammit. No. Just no. Yeah, anyway, so I started this right after I saw the season premiere of Season 2 and there were a shit ton of feels going on. And then, Season 3 came out before I finished and I just kind of…stopped writing it, I guess. So, I’m going to finish this and wish this was how everything had gone down instead. Because, yes, Season 3 was awesome, but at the same time, so fucked up. Like, holy shit, nothing will ever be the same again, fucked up.  
> So, here we go.

He didn’t know how old he was when he finally came to the conclusion that there was something wrong with his mother. Sometimes, when he was still small, he would wake up with her staring at him from the dark corners of his room. He would feel safe and guarded, like she was watching over him as he slept like his own guardian angel. As he got older and she got closer to the bed, that feeling faded. He would wake up and there she was-lying over him with a wicked gleam in her eye that he didn’t understand until after his first time with a girl.

He began to lock his door at night. It didn’t do any good, but at least she saw less of an invitation to watch him sleep. It wasn’t like she did it every night, but she did it often enough that it felt oddly intimate. Like she was waiting for him to tell her _yes_ and then she would creep inside him to stay.

He’d asked Shelley once if she’d ever awaken to find mother standing above her as well, but his sister had just given him a curious look and he’d left before she could ask questions about it.

After a while, he started calling his mother by her first name, Olivia. Somehow it seemed less tarnished and dirty that way. Besides, the way she looked at him sometimes was not like that of a mother. It was hungry and sexual, but oddly enough, he didn’t think it was for his body. Whatever that meant.

Then Peter and his mother moved to town.

They’d been so _different_ together. When Linda touched her son it didn’t leave a bad aftertaste or scream _wrong_. It was affectionate, loving, and fond.

Roman Godfrey lived a different tale entirely. Sure, he was rich, could have everything he wanted-whoever he wanted. But his home life was cold and sick like cancer and his sister was the one bright thing in the household that he could hold onto. He tried so hard to be good, but his mother coiled around him like an inky, black snake and took every opportunity she could to taint him.

Everything changed when he met Peter. It was like a new world opened up, like suddenly he wasn’t a vile monstrous thing living only to wreak havoc on Hemlock Grove. He wasn’t twisted, just different. So he clung to Peter not unlike the way his mother clung to him like a giant tumor and it became their downfall.

_A gypsy, is a gypsy, is a mother fucking gypsy._

Sitting in the waiting room with Peter, smoking a cigar while waiting for Letha to have her baby had been one of his favorite memories. There they were-talking and laughing together, getting along without the fear of the next moon looming over them. They had been carefree-so sure that everything would be normal and happy. In the blink of a wicked eye, it’d all turned to shit. He couldn’t reminisce what it felt like, finally having feeling like he had a friend, a true friend. Not without the visual of Peter’s horrified stare and the too-white walls closing in on him.

They’d both lost something that day. But for Roman, the blows had kept coming. Letha was dead, Shelley had disappeared, and then his last and only other tie to this world had done what his kind was born to do. It was in Peter’s nature to run and Roman knew he shouldn’t begrudge him for that. But he did- _oh, he so fucking did_. Because, while it was to be expected from his kind, Roman had thought Peter to be different. He’d thought they were in it together.

If this was friendship, he didn’t want it-any of it. His mother was a predator, but at least he’d come to expect it from her. She’d brought him to the Rumancek’s trailer knowing they would already be gone, because she was right. She always loved being right. So smug-that night he’d been awakened- _reborn_ \- she’d stroked his cheek as he’d feasted from her and told him how proud she was of him. The desire to make her _shut up_ had come on so strong. So, he’d ripped her wagging tongue from her smug mouth.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise when everything went to shit. He’d always been such a fan of self-mutilation, why wouldn’t he rip this new, lovely thing he’d found apart?

Action after reaction, fight after fight had led him to this moment now.

Below him was Olivia-the thing he once thought of as mother. She stared up at him from the building between them with the ugliest look of possession and coyness. Like she couldn’t wait to dig her hands into him and yank him apart. His daughter, Nadia was gone and Miranda with her, taken by something he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Roman.” Peter said behind him, grabbing a handful of his shirt when he got too close to where he stood entranced on the roof of the Godfrey Institute. “Come on.”

“Where?” Roman asked quietly, his voice almost lost in the wind. “They’re gone. Everything’s gone. Where do we go now?” _Where do_ I _go now_? He needed to stop all that _we_ bullshit, it was only going to hurt worse when Peter’s gypsy heritage got the best of him and he packed up and left again. His real father/uncle was dead now, torn up by his crazy, crazy mother. Shelley was…well, he couldn’t count on her to be mentally okay after what she’d gone through. What did he have any more besides a werewolf whose wandering soul could tell him to leave at any second?

“We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll find them. Let’s just get off the damn roof.” Roman didn’t agree. He wanted to stay right where he was and perhaps try to fly after the winged beast that’d taken his baby away. Instead, he allowed himself to be led inside. Olivia Godfrey never once stopped making promises of death with her eyes. He knew the next time she saw him, she would kill him.

His fingers itched and twitched to hurt someone, the likely candidate being himself, and he kept his eyes open as they went down the stairs into the building for something sharp that would get the job done. His shriveled heart sang for a blade, the feeling of the sharp edge dragging over his skin, separating it and setting him free like a whimpered cry in the night.

Peter kept a firm grip on the arm of his shirt as they went, like he was afraid if he let go Roman would use the opportunity to run back up to the roof and jump. He was right. Peter was breathing raggedly and Destiny was murmuring ‘ _Fuck_ ’ over and over like a chant. They had nothing left. They’d lost. It was over, how would they ever be able to find Nadia now?

When they reached the lab, Roman snatched his arm away, turning to face the two of them with a fierce expression.

“Roman,” Peter said, sounding lost himself-trying his best to be hopeful and encouraging. “We need to-“

“We need to _what_?” Roman snarled back. Everything was rushing to the top, about to boil over and he couldn’t stop it- _couldn’t stop anything_. All of the anger and sadness-the voices that raged in his veins like an infection and never went away-he just wanted it to end. Why couldn’t it end? “There’s nothing we can do. What the hell can we possibly accomplish now? That-that _thing_ is gone and I don’t know the first place to start looking, do you? Just fucking _leave_ it, Peter- _leave me_. It’s what you’re good at.”

Peter tensed defensively, baring his teeth like the beast concealed beneath his skin. “I left because I had to-I couldn’t stay here. How many times do I have to explain myself to you, Godfrey? I’ve already apologized. And I wouldn’t leave Nadia and Miranda for that thing-that’s _Letha’s_ baby.”

_She’s my baby, too_. Roman screamed in his head and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. “You left me. Why should this be any different? You leave when things get hard and I’d say its way past that point.”

“Shut the hell up, both of you.” Destiny snapped out from behind Peter. “Is this really the time to be fighting?”

“He started it.” Peter said angrily, throwing his arm in Roman’s direction. “I was just giving him what he wanted.”

“Look at him.” Destiny commanded, slapping her cousin hard on the shoulder. “He’s been through a lot tonight-we all have. He’s hurting and wants a fight-don’t be an idiot and give it to him. There’s no time for it.”

Was that right? Did he want a fight? Roman stared at them, mind buzzing. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. Peter glanced over at him, eyebrows still furrowed in irate defiance, but he must’ve seen something in Roman’s face. He gave a nod and seemed to forcefully loosen his posture’s defensiveness, shaking his fingers loose from the fists they’d made.

“You’re right. The last thing we need to do is fight when Nadia and Miranda need our help.”

There was a roaring in Roman’s ears and he squeezed his eyes shut. “We can’t even help ourselves.” He said quietly, feeling his mouth move but not hearing his words over the cries ringing through his skull. He turned and walked away, not seeing the hand Peter flung out or hearing their protests.

***

He didn’t remember the walk there, but eventually he found himself standing in the doorway of his large, empty house. For a few peaceful seconds, he let himself forget why it was so empty. When it came flooding back, the loss had him crumpling to his knees. Nadia wasn’t upstairs crying for attention behind closed doors and Miranda wasn’t humming to herself in the shower in her room. The smell of his daughter still lingered in the air. But there was no one here but himself and the echoes.

It was just like last time after Letha had died. That was the day he’d remembered that you can’t rely on others not to leave you, whether it was by death or other means.

Exhaustion hit him like a freight train and he didn’t even have the energy to care he was on the floor. Kicking out, he closed the front door with his foot, cutting himself off from the rest of the world before letting his eyes close.

**A woman stood crying, a baby cradled in her arms. It’s Miranda and she’s crying tracks of red while Nadia feeds from her breast and someone watches in the distance. There’s a flash of a house built on the side of a large hill, it’s shutters painted rusty red and hanging off and a shadow stands in the window watching from above like a vulture. The air’s alive with the sound of flapping wings. People stand in a ring in the woods, bare flesh pimpling from the cold as they hold their hands to their chests and bow their heads like they’re praying. Miranda and Nadia are in the middle, surrounded-Miranda’s long, white dress bleeding two circles of red from her nipples. In the distance are white, snow covered trees, covering mountains. A voice in his head lows and bellows** _**In the Deep Hollow, the creature feasts** _ **, calling-**

Roman wakes up, aching and lonely, but he knows suddenly where to start looking for his daughter.

He shoots to his feet and up the staircase to his bedroom. Once there, he pulls out a duffel bag and starts packing his warmest clothes into it. He shucks off the clothes he’s wearing and pulls on a pair of jeans he hasn’t worn in a while and a thermal, stuffing his feet into a pair of black boots and yanking on a jacket. Nadia’s barren room is still open and he rushes in, taking some of her clothes and other supplies as well.

He’d made his way into the kitchen and was taking some of his containers of animal blood out of the fridge when there was a knock on his door.

He froze and squinted in confusion. Who the hell would be knocking on his door? A part of him thought it might be his mother coming to finish him off and the sliver of fear he got from that made him tense. He forced himself to calm down. No way could it be his mother-she wouldn’t knock.

The knock came again-more frantic sounding.

Finally he gave into curiosity and went to open the door. Peter was on the other side, face flushed like he’d been running and hair hanging in his eyes. “You had it too, right?” He asked Roman and he noticed the bag hanging over Peter’s shoulder. “We’re going to Deep Hollow. Are you packed?” He sidestepped through the door and made his way confidently into the kitchen, Roman following along.

“What the hell are you doing here, Peter?” Roman asked, watching in a daze as the gypsy started packing up the blood containers from where he’d left off.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ idiot.” Peter zipped up his bag and started opening cabinets, pulling out food he’d bought for Miranda while she’d been staying with him and putting them into plastic bags. “I’m coming with you and we’re going to get them back and finish this damn thing. You had the dream, too, right?”

“Yes. Yes I did, but-“

“Don’t give me anymore bullshit about taking off, got it? I’m not leaving, I’m coming with you and we’re going to end this together. You’re my friend and I’m sorry I left the first time, but I needed to. Forget about it-I’m here now.”

“You shouldn’t-“

“Shut up, Roman. Grab your shit and get out to the car.”

He stared at Peter for a few more seconds before snatching up his bag and doing as he was told.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The car ride was silent, Peter hunched over himself in the passenger seat while Roman drove. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted so badly to believe that he wasn’t going to leave, but if he let himself-the disappointment of finding an empty house again would be too much.

“Where’s Shelley?” Peter asked, breaking the tensed hush.

“She’s still at the Institute.” He vaguely remembered seeing Pryce before leaving for home and the man assuring him that Shelley would get the best of care until she was herself again. He didn’t trust Pryce, but he knew the man felt something for his sister and she wouldn’t come to any harm by his hand-at least for now. “She…I can’t face her right now and its best she stays there to recover. Where’s Destiny?”

“She was chewing out her boyfriend in her room when I snuck out.”

“She’s probably going to tell Linda when she realizes you’re gone.”

“I know. I can’t worry about that now.”

It was quiet again, but less tense, the trees passing by in a blur as Roman drove. “What do you think they’re going to do to them?”

“I don’t know.” Peter answered. “But we’re going to stop it. We had the dream for a reason.”

Roman pursed his lips and his fingers twitched on the wheel. The dream had only shown them a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Everyone knew the state park was huge and while knowing they were in Deep Hollow was helpful-that was still a lot of ground to cover. How could they possibly find them in time?

***

At some point in their journey, they’d stopped and charged all of the essential camping materials to Roman’s credit card. When they’d gone as far as they could in the Maserati, they started hiking, lugging their stuff on their backs. The air was cold and would only get colder as they got higher, their boots crunching in the snow. The cold wouldn’t kill him, but it didn’t make this any less uncomfortable. Peter was hot like a furnace most of the time, yet he still seemed chilled as he zipped up his coat.

Roman had only gone camping once with Letha and Norman. They’d stayed in a tent for one night before he’d demanded they find a decent hotel instead. Norman and Letha had agreed, both used to about the same lifestyle as he and they’d loaded the car within the hour. Peter seemed to revel in the wilderness, his strides growing more confident as he went. No doubt he’d done his fair share of camping and probably didn’t even need the large tent or blow-up mattress Roman had purchased for him.

“Come on, keep up, Godfrey.” Peter taunted playfully from the top of the large hill, hands running through his hair as he stopped to breathe deeply, like he was smelling something intoxicating. All Roman could smell was dirt and even that was faint under the snow.

“Fuck off, Rumancek.” He reached out and gripped a thick tree trunk, pulling himself up the incline. “I’m climbing a mountain, asshole, not all of us are werewolves.”

“This isn’t much of a mountain.” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Do you need some help?”

“No way.” He snorted. “Not unless you want to carry my ass there.”

“In your dreams, you girl.”

Roman didn’t answer, grunting and grabbing the hand Peter had put out when he’d gotten close enough to the top. Peter yanked him up easily, patting him on the shoulder before starting off again in the lead. Roman followed the indents of his feet in the snow and pulled the hood of his jacket down further over his forehead. He carefully stepped over a warped tree root and looked around.

None of the area looked familiar around them and worry knotted his stomach.

“We’ve only been walking since this morning. We have a lot of ground to cover.” Peter said, trying to sound reassuring. The sky was growing darker by the minute and the air grew colder still. “We should set up camp. This spot looks flat enough.”

Peter directed him to clear off the ground and they set about putting up the tent and blowing up the mattresses, though Peter made scoffing noises while he did it.

“It’s too cold to sleep out under the stars, wolfman.” Roman said when he heard his friend mutter something about being pampered. “And who knows how many nights we’ll have to spend outside. Your back will be thankful to not have to sleep on the ground the whole time.”

It didn’t stop the looks, but Peter didn’t verbally complain anymore and that was enough for him. They made a fire, figuring the risk of being seen by whatever was waiting for them in forest was worth not freezing at night. Peter made a can of beef stew while Roman sipped from a cup of heated pig’s blood, ignoring his instincts to chug it.

The tent was large enough that they didn’t have to squeeze their beds in, but they put them close anyways for warmth. Both of them lay awake as they stared into the dark in thought. “Night, Roman.” Peter finally whispered and rolled over to sleep. Roman was awake much longer before finally giving in.

***

They’d been hiking through the mountains, searching for almost a week and Peter finally seemed to be running out of steam. His shoulders slumped more and more every day and his encouragements got fewer and lesser in between. Roman knew they would find Miranda and Nadia eventually. He just wasn’t sure what condition they would be in when it happened.

His foot slipped out from under him as he was making his way up, up, and up again, and he landed hard in the snow. Peter stopped his own trek at the sound of his breath whooshing out of him and caught his hand with his own before he could slide back down the mountain side. “We’ll make it.” Peter panted, breath a cloud of white and his eyes bruised with tiredness. “Don’t give up.”

In a way, Roman already had. His hope had flared after waking up from the dream but in the time spent searching, it’d slowly died out. He was dirty and cold, weak. He’d had to ration his blood supply as much as the voices would allow and though Peter hunted what he could from the cold woods, he was running out of food. All of the animals were in hibernation and most of their time was spent climbing and walking-alone but for each other. What could possibly survive out here? His mind kept going back to the vision they’d shared-Miranda holding his daughter, both of them white as the snow they treaded on looking forlorn and sad. How could they possibly survive out here, in the hands of an unknown force?

“Please.” Peter pleaded as he pulled Roman up, crouching beside him as he lay breathing on his back and staring up at the sky. “Please, trust me. Whatever happens, I’m here.”

Roman scrambled up onto his knees, attention now fully on Peter. “What?”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Peter said, gazing at him with sad, blue eyes. “You’re afraid that if we find them dead I’m going to leave you to deal with it all by yourself again.”

He blinked in surprise, mouth opening and closing. He hated how Peter could do that-how it seemed he could see into Roman’s scrambled head and make sense of everything before he had a chance to sort it. He loved Nadia, in a way he didn’t always know how to handle. She was this little odd creature that he’d been forced to take and while he had this deep drive to take care of her and protect her, he didn’t really know how. He loved her, but at the same time touching her was hard because all he could think of was how fragile she looked and how it was his fault she didn’t have a mother. He liked Miranda enough, though that desire to kiss her had been somewhat diminished when she’d swan-dived off the Institute with his baby. Still, he wanted to save her from this fate she’d been manipulated into.

But, what he was secretly more afraid of than anything-even more than losing his daughter-was being alone. He’d never been more alone than he had when he’d walked into Peter’s old trailer and found it devoid of any of his friend’s things. His sister was gone, Letha dead, and all he’d wanted was someone there with him. Instead he’d gotten his mother and that hadn’t ended so fantastically.

He would be drastically anguished and grief-stricken if he found Nadia and Miranda dead, but he wouldn’t be suicidal. Not unless Peter decided it was too much for him again and left.

“I’m not leaving again, Roman. Not this time. I’ve finally realized that you and I need each other. You’re my family and I need you.” Peter finished firmly and stood. He thrust down a long-fingered hand.

Roman stared at him wordlessly, heart thundering in his chest. Then he threw caution to the wind and reached back, taking hold of his friend’s hand and allowing him to help him stand again on his feet.

“Together.” Peter commanded.

“Together.” Roman agreed.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

***

It was another week before they found what they’d been searching for. They’d very nearly fallen on top of the cabin before spotting it-no light coming from the structure perched on the side of an incline. The boys watched from the trees, fearful because the house seemed void of life. Had they moved on and taken Miranda and the baby with them? Or worse, yet, had they killed them already and buried them somewhere in the hills?

Then, like a beacon, a cry rose into the night.

Nadia’s crying came from inside of the house and Roman fought the urge to storm the property at once. A light shone from one of the windows on the second floor, the dull light coming from a lantern being lit as someone tended to his daughter’s crying. Was it Miranda going to feed her, to rock her? He tried not to feel jealous; Miranda had been able to give Nadia what he couldn’t. But it should be him comforting her when she cried and holding her-showing her the affection she craved. If they got her back, he would be there. He would have to be seeing as how the second he could he was getting his daughter away from Miranda. Nadia may be a freak, but she was his freak and it wasn’t like he was any better.

“Now what?” Roman asked as Nadia’s crying finally quieted down.

“I don’t know.” Peter answered. “I don’t know what we’re up against.”

“Well, obviously we need to get her away from the Godzilla/Mothra hybrid in there. Decapitation always gets the job done. Well nearly always. Decapitation and then fire-that should definitely do the trick.”

Peter opened his mouth, probably to tell him to shut the hell up-when the door to the house opened and light spilled out onto the snow. They tensed from their hiding place, watching raptly as people in dark, hooded robes began to flow out of the doorway in a single-file line, organizing themselves into a ring. One of them, a taller figure with broad shoulders that was probably a male, lit torches that were hanging off the trees, lighting the night and casting dark shadows.

A gasp escaped him, and Peter let loose a low growl when Miranda was herded outside in a long, white nightgown, the end of it dragging along the ground in her wake. Nadia was in her arms, gripping her shoulder with her tiny fist, though Miranda looked detached and weary of the child she carried. She came to stop in middle of the ring, her eyes dull and at half-mast as she swayed in place.

All of the cloaked figures disrobed as one. They parted their robes like skin, letting the clothes fall to their feet behind them as they stood naked, and pale. There were five females and seven males of all different body sizes, though all bore the same symbol on them. The mark was tattooed in red and of a thick serpent coiling around, fanged jaws opened wide. Their flesh quivered and pimpled in the cold and yet they stood still without wincing, heads bowed and hands coming up lace over their hearts. Their mouths began to move and a low chant emanated and steadily grew louder with conviction.

Dr. Arnold Spivak stood in the circle as well, his skin slimy looking in the low lighting. His skin seemed to ripple as he raised his hands skyward, grinning. Miranda gave a low cry of distress, drawing their attention to her as two flowers of red blossomed from the peaks of her breasts, staining the white gown. The people chanted on unwaveringly, resolute in their cause.

Bending down, Spivak withdrew a long blade from the folds of his crumpled robe.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” Peter said. “But I think it’s time to interrupt.” Roman agreed full-heartedly. Even without a plan, he couldn’t stand by and watch anymore.

They both stood up together and Peter pulled a blade out from the inside of his boot that Roman hadn’t known was hidden there. The people in the circle didn’t stop chanting, but Spivak did, smiling at them as they came like he was happy to see them.

“Boys!” He crowed, hands coming to outstretch in front of him like he was expecting a group hug. “You’ve finally made it! Miranda, say hello to the boys.”

“Hello, boys.” Miranda complied, tonelessly.

“So glad you could join us. Well, I’d offer you something to drink, but you seem to have arrived in the middle of our ceremony!” He laughed boisterously, eyes crinkled in mirth.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing to them?” Roman barked, his own eyes narrowed as he watched the other people closely for any tell-tale signs of an attack. “What _are_ you?”

“Ah, well, let me answer your second question first and if you don’t do the smart thing and leave, I’ll answer your second.” He raised the blade up to his chest and in one fast swipe, he split his chest open like a cocoon, revealing the scales buried beneath as they glinted green like armored plating. “My God’s name is Yig and I was birthed from my mother’s womb in a bout of terror. You see, my God is docile-unless you mess with his children and then he is, oh so wrathful and full of vengeance. My pitiful, human mother slayed some of his children and in return, he made her give birth to me. My brothers and I ripped through her like paper and she screamed so frightfully until her heart finally gave out along with her body and she died. My brothers followed after until I was all that was left.

See how I have grown? My God-my true father gave me wings and claws to fight and I use them now only for him. I have mutated beyond mere comprehension and can hide among human filth flawlessly now. I have waited so long, Roman-for Nadia. I thank you kindly for your gift, she is perfect. And then you were kind enough to send Miranda to me as well. I chose well when I came under your mother’s employment.”

He gazed fondly at Roman, mouth curled. “You cannot attempt to defeat me boys. I cannot be killed by the likes of you. Please do not make me hurt you. I’m a fair man, but I won’t stand for you trying to disrupt my plans.”

“You can’t have them.” Roman said and prepared himself for attack. He was weak-they hadn’t found any animals in the past four days and he’d been drinking only small amounts since they’d left Hemlock Grove to conserve his supply. But hopefully it would be enough. It had to be enough. Peter shuddered next to him and he reached out, grabbing his friend’s forearm. “No transforming.”

The shudder slowed into a stop and Peter raised the knife he’d had in his boot instead. They were severely outmatched here. “Shee-it.” Peter said lowly.

“Shee-it.” Roman agreed.

“Ah, Dr. Spivak.” A voice said behind them and both of them froze, Roman’s heart sinking in his chest as he heard the familiar accent and Holier-Than-Thou tone. Olivia Godfrey sauntered into the light, her clothes white as the snow and in immaculate order while her raven, black hair stood out starkly like an ink blot. “While I couldn’t care less about you killing them” … Her hand gestured at Roman and Peter disdainfully as she weaved about through the ring of people. “I must protest whatever your plans are with my niece. She is quite dear to me.” Her smile was sharp, eyes as black as her hair-a predator. His mother had always been so, but this was different-this was her not holding back.

“Forgive me, but pray, what are you going to do about it? You did your best to slay me at my office and that didn’t take. What can you possibly hope to accomplish here?” Dr. Spivak reasoned, still smiling.

“Well. I’m sure if I play around a bit, I’ll eventually be successful in finding something that’ll take. I have no prior engagements, so we have all the time in the world, Doctor. But first-I need to freshen up a bit.” The whole while she’d been talking, Olivia had been moving through and between the naked people chanting quietly, reaching out with perfectly manicured fingers and running it along their bare sides, making them flinch and quiver. She stopped beside a plumper woman with short, chestnut hair. “You’ll do, cow.”

With a viscous yank, Olivia bared the woman’s neck and opened her jaw wide before diving down. There was a wet thump as her teeth dug in deep and blood splashed the snow at their feet. The woman gave a shriek of terror and pain, clawing at Olivia weakly like a kitten. Her struggles were in vain. Everyone in the ring stopped chanting, their faces pale with fear as they took in their comrade’s petrified mewls.

Finally, the struggling was over and the woman went limp. Olivia let her fall, chewing a hunk of skin and muscle she’d taken from her and ignoring the gore splattered around her mouth and down her white dress. “All done.” Olivia sighed.

She took in Roman and Peter’s shocked looks, tsk-ing at them like she was scolding them. “You see, Roman, I thought I’d taught you better. Look at you-nearly as weak as these pathetic humans. What can you possibly do here in your condition? You’ve been living off animal blood, haven’t you? You look just terrible.” She gave him a patronizing smile, not unlike the ones she used to give him, before turning back to Dr. Spivak and dismissing him completely.

Dr. Spivak hissed in displeasure. “Now, where am I going to find another person to fill in for her at this time of the night, huh? Do you know how hard it is to find someone who won’t complain about being naked in this kind of weather?” His head snapped to the side, like it was broken and there was a dull ripping noise as the seam in his chest got bigger, the skin tearing down past the inside of his thigh. “If a fight is what you want, then that’s what you’ll get. Jesus, I knew I should have brought along a back-up member just in case.” With clawed hands he reached up, grabbing the pieces of skin separating his chest and yanked-tearing them, opening himself up and tossing the flesh to the side as his real form burst forth.

Peter and Roman stepped back instinctively from the creature now bared before them. Scales glinted light from the torches, still coated in bloody membrane as it shook its head and unveiled wide, rubbery-looking wings. It looked nothing like Dr. Spivak except for the grotesque face. It opened its jaw wide and a speckled, forked tongue came out to taste the air.

“Mmm, step back, little mice. I’m in the mood to tear something to pieces.” Olivia said, stepping forwards gracefully as she smeared the blood from her lip with a well-manicured finger. The creature cocked its head at her and she cocked her back, taking in its form with open curiosity. “I must say, Doctor. You’re quite ugly like this. If you and your god are such good friends, why did he not give you a handsomer body? You look like some hideous thing from a cartoon.”

The doctor struck out with his clawed feet and Olivia was suddenly standing out of range. Quick as a blink, she’d moved, her facial expression only one of bored amusement.

Roman slowly converged to Miranda’s side, his eyes on the battle. “Miranda?” He whispered to her when he was close enough. “Miranda, can you hear me?” Her face was slack, eyes frightened and dull.

His daughter stared into him with too blue eyes and he felt a tremor run down his spine. Roman reached out slowly, remembering everything Miranda claimed his baby capable of. The sound of his mother and Dr. Spivak fighting commenced and he did his best to ignore it, knowing that whichever monster prevailed wouldn’t hesitate killing him and taking his daughter. Everything faded as he grabbed hold of Nadia’s little fingers and did his best to smile comfortingly.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He whispered and her eyes flashed as she gripped his hand back. “You don’t want to be here, right? I’m going to take you home.” Her eyes bore into him and her lip wobbled. “We’ll get you a new room, yeah? I’m going to try harder for you.” She smiled and made a gurgling noise and his smile became more genuine. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

“Roman!” Peter snapped behind him, sounding distressed and he turned to see that the followers had stopped chanting and were now rushing towards them intently. Peter had his knife poised above a thick, muscled man who appeared to be in his late thirties, both of them grappling for the blade. The gypsy appeared to be losing against the larger man as the knife veered dangerously towards his own chest.

Roman was moving before he could rethink his strategy, hands snapping out to clap over the big man’s wrist, forcing him to look into his eyes. “ **Let go**.” Roman commanded and the man’s grip loosened. “ **Let go and** _ **stand still**_.”

The man’s eyes drooped like he was intoxicated and his meaty hands let go of the knife. Peter didn’t pause or stop to think, bringing the blade up and burying it to the hilt in the man’s chest with a wet thump. The man grunted and when the blade was pulled free his life blood gushed out as he fell forwards into the stained snow.

They moved on to the next follower, pushing the regret aside. _These are not good people_. They told themselves as they slew the next person-a pretty, blonde woman who ran at them screaming. _They’re brainwashed, there’s nothing you can do for them. They’ll kill you without hesitation_. The bodies piling up in the snow would leave them with many nightmares, but they didn’t let it stop them.

Something solid and heavy knocked him hard in the head and shoulders, and Roman cried out in surprise and pain as his head took most of the hit. He fell forwards and rolled, the pain in his skull making him hiss and struggle not to throw up as he ended up on his back so he could see his attacker. A large, balding man with a protruding belly and thick legs and arms stood over him wielding a tree limb.

“Roman!” Peter called out from a few feet away, pinned down as he fought against the remaining two followers. Roman struggled to stand, but the agony in his head left him panting pathetically, his neck wet in what he knew was blood as a storm raged behind the pounding behind his eyes.

The man smiled in triumph, mouth moving as he chanted blessings to his god and raised the tree limp high above his head, ready to bring it down. Roman closed his eyes, wanting his daughter, wanting his friend. There was an odd ripping noise and someone screamed in terror and pain. He opened his eyes just in time to see the man above him plowed over, taken out by a blur of fur.

_What_? He blinked and struggled again to sit up. A dark haired wolf growling high in its throat stood on all fours on top of the man, claws buried in his skin as it vibrated in anger. _Peter_? The wolf leaned towards the terrified man, ignoring his mewls of fear as it slowly, like it was prolonging the pain on purpose, took a deep bite out of the man’s face. There was a wet sucking noise as the skin and muscle fought against the pull of the wolf’s teeth, but the wolf prevailed, ripping into the meat until the snow was red and the man stopped struggling beneath its heavy body.

The two followers Peter had been fighting before were laying slashed open and gored a few feet away.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Peter?” Roman said quietly and the wolf paused, ears twitched atop its head. The huge beast turned slowly to him and he remained still, watching. “It’s…it’s okay now, Peter, buddy. You can change back now.” The wolf stood and stalked towards him, blood dripping from its muzzle. _Well, it was worth a shot_. “Peter, buddy, I really don’t think I have the strength to do what I did last time.”

The wolf continued to stalk forward, its eyes unusually clouded as it licked its jowls. A wailing started and the wolf froze, head cocked to the side as Nadia began to cry. Big, fat tears ran down his daughter’s flushed cheeks as her little hands gripped Miranda’s dress and she stared and stared and stared at Roman and his bleeding head. Miranda didn’t attempt to comfort her; in fact, her glassy eyes were round in what appeared to be fear as she took in the baby’s distress.

“Nadia.” Roman croaked from his place in the snow, gaze on his daughter though he watched the hungry wolf from the corner of his eye. “I’m okay, sweetheart, really.” Her crying continued. _Gosh, he was terrible at this_.

A big snout prodded him in the side suddenly and he gasped, jumping in fright. The wolf had moved so fast and was now growling lowly at him, fangs entirely too close to his stomach, his throat, his _everything_ for comfort. He went still as the nose prodded him further, snuffling its way up into his shoulder before giving a mighty huff and pulling back. It sat back on its haunches to look at him, ears twitching towards the sounds of Olivia and Dr. Spivak fighting.

“Peter?” Roman asked hopefully, noticing the crazed glaze in the wolf’s eyes had cleared. Peter huffed again, shaking his large head and spraying droplets of blood everywhere. “Asshole.” He grumped, hiding his face behind his arm as stray pieces of gore rained on him. The wolf gave what looked like a large grin, tongue laving at the last of the mess around its mouth before it stood, looking at Roman impatiently. “Yeah, yeah, give me a second.”

He sat up slowly, head spinning and stomach lurching, but nothing spewed anywhere and he was pretty sure it was just blood and not pieces of brain matter leaking out the back of his skull. So, he took a chance and struggled to his knees, then to his feet, swaying dangerously as he put his hands out and buried them into Peter’s fur to keep from sprawling back out in the snow. The wolf held still, oddly tolerant as he panted and waited for everything to _stay still_ before finally dropping one hand, leaving one cautiously planted on Peter’s back.

“Thanks, Pete.” He murmured and the wolf turned its head to nip at his fingers. “Sorry, sorry, _Peter_. Happy? Nicknames are supposed to be affectionate, you know.” Peter snarled, showing his teeth in warning. “Fine. Sheesh, see if I care. I’m pretty sure I’ve called you Pete before and you didn’t bitch so much then.” The wolf huffed again and followed up its amusement with another nip to his fingers.

Nadia had stopped wailing by the time he’d made it to her and was just staring him down, sniffling wetly as snot and tears drenched her face. He grimaced and reached up, using his sleeve to wipe up the mess a little as his daughter hiccuped and reached out with pudgy arms to him. He blinked in surprise at the obvious askance to be picked up and glanced at Miranda. Her eyes were unfocused, but her grip was strong around the child and he wondered if she’d let Nadia go without a fight.

His daughter whined and whimpered, hands making grabby motions at him as her face wrinkled in distress and he decided he didn’t give two shits if Miranda wanted to put up a fight-he was holding his daughter. Taking his other hand off Peter, and finding himself more steady as the blood dried in his hair, he reached out with both hands and gripped Nadia about the waist. With minimal effort, he pulled her free from Miranda’s blood stained chest and settled her against his own.

It was like the first time he’d met Letha, the first time he’d made her laugh and smile and known she was something pure and beautiful and he would eventually fuck it up. Except when Nadia smiled up at him through her snot and her spit and her tears, he determined this would be different. He wouldn’t fuck this up. And if he did? He’d do everything in his power to make it right.

Peter growled at his feet and Roman snapped his head up, following the wolf’s gaze to where Olivia and Dr. Spivak were engaged in an all-out war. Olivia’s dress was torn in multiple places and soaked in red and what looked like scales, her face a picture of scornful glee as she sliced out at the beast in front of her. And Dr. Spivak was indeed a formidable beast. His gaze was a poisonous yellow as he hissed and spat and lunged, places on his deformed body missing scales and hunks of meat, though as they watched the holes and scratches and breaks on his body reformed and grew back-healing almost as soon as they were made.

Olivia didn’t look concerned that no matter what damage she inflicted, or how bad, it would simply heal back. Instead, she looked mildly annoyed and put out. “What’s it going to take to put you down, doctor?” She mused aloud, lips quirked. “If I tore your limbs from your body would you be able to put yourself back together? How about fire? If I roasted your putrid body alive would you finally die, you foul creature?” Anyone else wouldn’t have been able to tell she was anything but calm by the tone of her voice. But Roman knew-he could hear it, the impatient way her words clipped, showing that she was steadily growing tired of this game.

Peter’s body was tense next to him, gearing up to attack, to mangle, but Roman grabbed hold of his ruff. “We have to go.” He whispered. “We have Nadia, we can leave now.” There was no way they could go on the offense and possibly defeat either Olivia or Dr. Spivak-not in their current condition. It would’ve been difficult enough if they were both in top form, but right now it would be downright suicide.

Peter turned his great head, nipping at Roman’s wrist and growling and Roman was sure the wolf would attack anyways. It didn’t. Instead, it watched the fight with sharp eyes full of violence, lustful for blood.

“Miranda, come with us.” Roman said lowly, leaning close to the girl. Her face was pale as milk and her hair hung limp. Her eyes, glazed and drugged-looking couldn’t seem to focus.

“Stay.” She whispered.

“Miranda, you can’t stay here, it’s not safe.”

Her gaze sharpened and went to Nadia who was still perched on Roman’s hip, her little hands clenched tight in his clothes. “We have to stay.” She said and she leaned forwards as if she were about to lift the baby from his arms.

He shot backwards from her reach, eyes wide and angry as his nostrils flared. Peter growled low in warning and snapped at the skirt of her dress, letting her know not to come closer and she flinched. “ **Come with us**.” Roman commanded, making eye contact.

Nothing. Miranda stared back blankly, eyes drooping.

“Stay.” She whispered. “Staystaystaystaystaystaystay…”

He was out of options. Not even his mind control thing worked, what could he do now? “We’ll have to leave her.” He said in answer and Peter’s ears went flat against his skull as he snarled in displeasure. “Sorry, sorry, Peter, but we can’t risk taking her with us. Not when she’s like this-what if she fights us?” Nadia came first.

Peter glared. “Well, then, smartass, you turn yourself back and find a way to get us all out of here without my mother or Dr. Spivak tearing us apart. No? Then we leave her. Hopefully, she’ll be safe if they don’t have Nadia to complete their weird-shit ritual.”

Ignoring Peter’s rumbles and his splitting headache, Roman turned on his heel and made his way quietly back the way they’d first came, rocking Nadia gently and hoping she’d keep quiet.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all who read and comment! ;)


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